


Darling Dearest

by James Brantley (Brantsrants)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19947211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brantsrants/pseuds/James%20Brantley
Summary: While it is true that most of what makes Aziraphale who he is and therefore immediately attractive to Crowley is old hat, sometimes the little things do come out of nowhere and tap Crowley’s shoulder, as if to say “You thought you were done pining? Oh no, dear boy, we’re just getting started.”Or that one where Crowley gets turned on by Aziraphale's pinkie ring, because he's a freak.





	Darling Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> Back on my bullshit with some filth. Been a minute since I wrote smut, and first time for the fandom, so please feel free to give me feedback! Also this has not been brit picked/beta read so all grammatical errors are mine! 
> 
> catch me on tumblr! starkspangledobsidian.tumblr.com or read the fic on tumblr on my writing blog jamesbrantsrants.tumblr.com
> 
> Also Michael Sheen if you're reading this I love you, even though you peel onions with potato peelers.

**Darling Dearest**

Here’s the thing: When you’ve been balls deep in love with someone for 6000 years, you would think that nothing would surprise you anymore, or that sexually speaking you wouldn’t get excited about the little things anymore. For Crowley, you would of course, be wrong on both counts.

  
While it is true that most of what makes Aziraphale who he is and therefore immediately attractive to Crowley is old hat, sometimes the little things do come out of nowhere and tap Crowley’s shoulder, as if to say “You thought you were done pining? Oh no, dear boy, we’re just getting started.”

  
Crowley’s right-hand cramps in remembered sympathy of when Aziraphale bought his first pair of glasses. Crowley doesn’t understand this kink either, but it seems to be a common one to find men who wear glasses attractive, so it doesn’t bother him too badly. He had to avoid Aziraphale for at least two months from sheer mortification.

  
Crowley and Aziraphale are sitting at the Ritz, their usual table, of course. Aziraphale is gesturing wildly, something about a first edition of whomever, Crowley tends to tune him out when he gets like this, not because he’s not interested (he isn’t) but because he loves watching Aziraphale glow with excitement, narrowly missing his own wine glass as his speech picks up speed.  
Crowley is, not for the first time, very glad he’s wearing glasses.

  
The check comes, Crowley settles the bill, mainly to watch the pleased smile grace Aziraphale’s face, and they saunter out in the direction of the bookshop.  
Aziraphale is still chattering on about Wilde or something, and Crowley is tuning him out in earnest now, scowling miserably in the direction he thinks Wilde’s remains are (he’s completely wrong of course). Crowley steps off the curb to cross the street when Aziraphale’s hand is suddenly in his collar, yanking him backwards.

  
Crowley notices two things in rapid succession.  
1\. He almost got discorporated by a massive lorry.  
2\. Aziraphale’s ring felt like a brand against his neck.

“Hello, new kink.” Thinks Crowley.

Aziraphale is still fussing over him, Crowley realizes with a start.

  
“What were you thinking! What would you have done if you’d been sent /down there/! Crowley, Really! Dear boy, you must be more careful, we can’t simply replace these bodies anymore you know!”

  
Crowley rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses, willing himself not to turn red, not in embarrassment, but in arousal.  
“I barely got hit angel, I’m Fine. Didn’t you say you had a new shipment of Chateaneuf Du Pape? Or something that could be persuaded to be Chateaneuf Du pape?”

  
Aziraphale tuts, but drops it, as Crowley knew he would, “I keep telling you dearest, I don’t care how many miracles you throw at it, a lirac will never be Chateaneuf Du Pape.”

  
They’ve finally arrived at the shop, and Aziraphale heads straight to the liquor cabinet in the back room.

Crowley smiles, and makes sure everything is locked up before toeing off his shoes and collapsing on the hideous tartan sofa. He figures if he’s laying on the hideous sofa, he doesn’t have to look at it.

He’s also trying very hard not to think about the feel of Aziraphale’s ring on the back of his neck.

The thing is. Well, it’s like this. Crowley bought that ring and gave it to Aziraphale, ages, eons, ago. Not like that, well. A little like that. Mostly because for a while there Crowley delighted in finding off the wall type Knick knacks for Aziraphale, to see how ugly he could go before Aziraphale made him stop.

(The statue in Crowley’s apartment was originally for Aziraphale, but that was the line. He couldn’t bear to part with it though and it makes him grin thinking about Aziraphale’s-trying-very-hard-not-to-offend-face.)

  
The angel mug was from him, and somewhere in the deep recesses of Aziraphale’s cabinet’s lies a matching devil mug, never used.  
So, the ring, the ring was from Crowley. At the time as a joke, but also, not really, but played off that way. Now, now it feels like, well. A brand. A sign that Aziraphale is his, whether he knows it or not. Crowley’s getting hot under the collar just thinking about it again.

  
Aziraphale finally returns from the back room with a crate full of bottles and two glasses. Crowley isn’t sure why they even bother with glasses at this point but is too afraid to ask.

  
Now that Crowley is aware of a new kink, he seems to hyper fixate on it, because of course he does. Aziraphale’s ring clinks gently against the bottles, and the glasses and is cool under his hand when their hands brush.

  
Crowley’s pulse is thundering in his ears, which seems excessive, even to Crowley, as he’s never had to have a pulse in the first place.

  
Aziraphale finally has enough and sets his glass down on the side table. He’s sitting across from Crowley in one of his massive reading chairs that you sort of sink into and hope you don’t get pulled through the other side.

  
“Dearest, are you alright? You’ve barely said two words all evening. I know there was that fright with the lorry, but surely I’m not boring you?”  
Aziraphale enunciated the word “boring” with the disdain most people reserve for words like “genocide” or “used car salesman”.

  
Crowley grinned weakly at him and shook it off “No, fine, must be the shock, is all.”

  
Aziraphale squints, which spells trouble for Crowley, if past records are to be believed.

“My dear, for a demon, you know you’re a terrible liar?”

  
Crowley wants to be offended, but he does enjoy when Aziraphale is a pushy bastard, he’s not sure what that says about him, and he doesn’t want to find out.

  
“You’re very mean, for an angel.” Crowley says, faux pouting.

  
Aziraphale rolls his eyes, which never fails to make Crowley grin.

  
“Aren’t you going to get on with it? I know we’re immortal my dear, but I would rather like to move forward this century”

  
Crowley snips, “Now who’s going too fast?” and immediately regrets it.

  
Aziraphale looks shame-faced, “apologies dearest, if you need more time, of course, I just thought after armageddont, and you staring at my hands for the past two hours, you’d get on with it, but if you want to wait I-“

  
Crowley interrupts him “I wasn’t staring at your hands, angel” immediately regrets it, and flushes a light pink despite himself.

  
Aziraphale’s smile takes a predatory edge, “you think I don’t know that? That I don’t know you? You may be a wily old serpent, but I’ve known you for 6000 years. You think I didn’t know this ring was a promise? A branding? A message to everyone else? I know you, Anthony. Now come over here and do something about it.”

  
Crowley very eloquently says “Ngk” and then slithers his way off the sofa and settles in front of Aziraphale on his knees before him like an offering.

  
Crowley places his hands on Aziraphale’s thighs and tries to stop them from shaking, he’s not very successful. Aziraphale hums happily, and gently takes Crowley’s sunglasses off, folds them and places them on the table next to his wine glass.

  
Aziraphale turns back to Crowley, places his right hand on Crowley’s jaw, and brushes his thumb over Crowley’s cheekbone. Crowley can feel Aziraphale’s ring under his ear and his own pulse in his teeth.

  
“Much better dear boy, such pretty eyes to keep hidden all the time. I don’t mind it though, they’re only for me, aren’t they?”

  
Crowley swallows, tries to say something, can’t, and nods instead.

  
Aziraphale sighs lightly, fond. He uses his grip to pull Crowley up, and leans down to take his mouth in a deep kiss. While it is unclear who moans first, they are both clearly moaning by the time they part. Both sets of lips shiny and bruised.

  
Aziraphale runs his left hand through Crowley’s hair, pensive. “I think I’d very much like to use you hard and put you away wet.”

  
Crowley gives a full body shudder, “Please.”

  
Aziraphale’s hand suddenly tightens in Crowley’s hair yanking him back to meet his eyes, “please what?”

  
Crowley moans. “Anything, angel, anything you can give me.”

  
Aziraphale’s hand loosens as he pets through Crowley’s hair once more, “There’s a good boy. Take me out. Ah. Ah. Ah. Hands behind your back, my dear.”

  
Crowley crosses his wrists behind his back even as his brow furrows in confusion. “How will I- “

  
Aziraphale interrupts him, smug, as always, “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something if you want it badly enough, yes?”

  
Crowley swallows, nods. He rocks back and forth a little between his knees and then leans forward to undo Aziraphale’s trousers, with his teeth.

  
Aziraphale arches into him like a pleased cat and grabs his glass with his right hand, ring clinking against the stem.

  
Crowley moans, both from the sound which he now realizes is very much like a pavlovian whistle to his hind brain and the fact that he’s finally got Aziraphale’s cock freed from all that fabric.

  
Aziraphale gestures as if to say, “well, go on then”

  
Crowley really can’t find a reason to argue so he takes Aziraphale’s cock as far down his throat as he can, it’s a bit difficult without the use of his hands, but worth the awkwardness for the heavy weight on his tongue, in his mouth, down his throat.

  
Aziraphale hums lightly, finishes off his wine and puts his glass back on the table. He rolls his neck a bit, like he’s relaxing after a long day of not selling books. He leans back in his chair and says quietly, “I think you’re ready to take more, don’t you my dear?”

  
Crowley moans around Aziraphale’s cock, drool slipping out of the sides of his mouth making him sloppy. His cock is painfully trapped against his painted-on jeans, but he can’t seem to summon the effort to fix it, not until Aziraphale tells him to anyway.

  
Aziraphale replaces his left hand in Crowley’s hair with his right, ring catching on strands of red hair. He gives Crowley a moment to brace and relax his jaw and then he proceeds to fuck his mouth.

  
Crowley hasn’t stopped moaning since they started and Aziraphale hasn’t stopped muttering sweet nothings mixed with filthy talk.

“A walking contradiction, my angel” thinks Crowley, fondly.

  
Aziraphale has been fucking Crowley’s throat for long enough now that Crowley’s jaw has started to ache, though Crowley would never tell him that, he’d have to see that worried little furrow between his angel’s eyebrows and he’s not cruel enough to do that.

  
“That’s it my dear, take it. You were made for this weren’t you, giving me pleasure.”

Crowley thrills in that, his glorious little hedonist angel.

  
“Oh Crowley, oh my darling. Dearest, I’m going to- “

Crowley moans and shoves forward as far as he can swallowing and moaning around Aziraphale’s cock, licking the underside until Aziraphale tenses and shoots down his throat so far he can barely taste it.

  
They stay there, shaking around each other for a while. Crowley gently mouthing at Aziraphale’s cock until Aziraphale winces with sensitivity and pulls him away.

  
Aziraphale does up his trousers and leans forward to kiss Crowley again, thoroughly. Crowley is well on his way to looking debauched. Hair pulled in different directions, lips bruised and spit-slick, chin wet with drool and cum where it leaked out of him.

  
Aziraphale hums delighted, pulling Crowley up on shaking legs to straddle him in the chair.

  
“Keep your arms behind you dearest, a trust exercise, if you will. I won’t let you fall”

  
Crowley softens his gaze, “I know you won’t, angel.”

  
Aziraphale cups Crowley’s cheek with his right hand, “thank you, for trusting me.”

  
Crowley squirms, embarrassed.

  
Aziraphale huffs a breath of laughter, not unkindly and finally, unzips Crowley from his jeans.

  
Crowley tries his best not to wiggle too much and is of course wiggling so much he almost falls off Aziraphale’s lap.

  
“Careful, dearest.” Admonishes Aziraphale, grip suddenly like iron around Crowley’s hip. Crowley is finally freed of his self-made prison and Aziraphale smiles softly up at him.

  
“Now, I’m going to touch you, and you’ll either come like this, or you won’t come at all. Understood?”

  
Crowley hisses a breath between his teeth and nods rapidly.

  
Aziraphale grins and wraps his right hand around Crowley’s cock.

Overwhelming pleasure and embarrassment rush through Crowley at the same time. It’s going to be over before it even starts because he can feel that stupid ring pressing into him, on him, around him, and he’s babbling but he’s not sure what he’s saying but Aziraphale shushes him gently.

  
“That’s it. My good boy, aren’t you? The ring is getting to you isn’t it? I knew it would, clever old serpent. Shows that I’m yours doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale’s voice takes a dark edge suddenly, “and you’re mine. Mine. **Mine**. Say it.”

  
Crowley sobs, “yours.”

  
Aziraphale snarls, “Prove it then. Come all over my pretty ring” and Crowley does.


End file.
